White Magic Studio

writingsforwinter:

Oh holy holy bones,

it’s a strange feeling, watching the ghosts of my former selves gather

in my living room like a séance. They compare love letters

from all of my ex-boyfriends, choose the best ones

to send to sea in a bottle. The winners include lines like, “I hate you,

you deserve all the bruises I can give you in one month,”

and “But you’re so beautiful when you scream, it makes me

want to hear it more often.”

Got a real knack for choosing men.

The number of times they laid a hand on me, not in the sense

of holding my hand, but in the sense of leaving me black and blue

not just with fists, but words too,

could fill an entire forest for years on end.

I always tried to stay on the path, never stray, never fall for men

who looked dangerous, just like Grandmother told me.

But in the end I chose them anyway

and they all ended up swallowing me whole.

But there’s an alternate version of the Little Red Riding Hood

in which she doesn’t blame herself for ending up in the wolf’s stomach

a version in which the forest floods before the wolf has a chance

to get to her Grandmother’s house

and ends up being sucked into the undercurrents.

So now I remind myself, every time I’m near water,

that I am no shipwreck. No, I am no shipwreck.

All my ex-boyfriends were but me?

Me, I am anchor anchor anchor.

Little Red Riding Hood Falls in Love with the Wolf